With Compassion Comes Forgiveness
by Smaradgus
Summary: When a hero dies, who is there for him?


_With Compassion Comes Forgiveness_

**Disclaimer**: Sadly, I do not own the world of Harry Potter.

**Summary**: When a hero dies, who is there for him?

**Warnings**: Death, mentions of torture

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"You promised... You _promised_ me..."

In the depths of those murky, listless eyes burned raw pain. Draco couldn't turn his gaze away even if he wanted to. He raised a slender hand, slowly, to wipe away a lonely tear, shaped like a glistering pearl rolling down a hollow cheek.

"I tried, Harry, I really tried... "

Mercury eyes locked with the green orbs, silently begging for understanding. "I'm sorry."

A small moment of silence filled the musty, cool air, making it uncomfortably thick and unyielding. Draco could feel the incessant scent of decay and despair on his tongue, could feel the dampness stifle his hair and chill him into the bone. And he hated it, hated the way his throat felt itchy, hated how the stench would stuck to his clothes until he burned them, hated the way his eyes burned.

"How... " The raspy, pitiful voice broke and Harry coughed, a wet, wretched sound that went straight to Draco's heart. If he had one. "How – how did they... die?"

Images of hazel and blue eyes filled with absolute pain and dismay flashed across Draco's mind. Blood everywhere, trickling to form small pools of crimson. Screams of pain echoing in the small chamber. The lifeless bodies, mutilated beyond recognition, dumped to the werewolves to feast on. "They died peacefully, with one curse."

The head with dirty, black hair drooped down. "Good."

Draco swallowed, kneeling down on the harsh ground. The coldness of the stone floor was seeping through his clothes. "Harry... I really am sorry, you know. I promised you that I'd get them out, but I couldn't. I just couldn't."

"It's okay", came the quiet, rough murmur. "At least... at least, they're in a better place now, without war and mayhem to deal with... "

Harry raised his head, and Draco stared into the gaunt face of the broken saviour. Empty eyes, once bright green and vibrating with life, were now dark, sunken, devoid of any kind of happiness. They were the eyes of the one who had lost all hope and reason to life for. Harry's face was thin, painfully thin, the bones sticking out. Draco knew he looked the same underneath the filthy rags he wore. The once wild, untameable hair had finally been defeated, it now lay matted and unkempt against Harry's skull, not one drop of spirit left. His skin had been unblemished before, tastefully sun kissed and glowing. Now it was sickly pale, covered with smudges of dirt, dried blood and bruises in every colour. A few scratches ran across his cheek. Draco wondered if the boy had done them by himself, just to feel something.

A slight ghost of a smile flickered over Harry's dry, patched lips. "It's fine now, Draco, really."

Draco frowned. After three months of captivity, was Harry finally cracking up? "Harry?"

A wistful expression covered Harry's face, his already deadened eyes going blank. "If they're already away... There's nothing to keep me here. I could just... go now."

Draco's throat tightened painfully. Over the three long months Harry had been held in the small cell underneath the nameless Manor, he had been forced to go through countless sessions of merciless torture, both physical and mental, but never before had he actually voiced the option of giving up. Perhaps it had been the knowledge that his friends had been dragged in, as well, and he only kept on breathing for them. For his friends, Draco knew Harry would have done everything. He would have given his life for them. In fact, he _had_ begged to be taken in exchange for his friends' lives. But that would have been counted as mercy, and granting mercy for Harry Potter, the slayer of the Dark Lord and the target of the Death Eaters' wrath, was not an option.

Harry had clung to his last choice. Draco. The Dark Mark burned in the young blonde's left arm, he had followed his ancestors, his father's, footsteps in the past. There had been no other way for Draco, the last heir of the notorious Malfoy lineage. All his life he had been prepared and trained to be the perfect Death Eater, loyal to the cause, brutal and above all, merciless. And for that man, his school time nemesis, his arch rival, his bitter enemy, Harry Potter had put all his hope during his captivity.

Draco didn't really know what had happened in their situation. Somehow, their mutual, painful history was left in the shadows, still lurking about but not clouding their judgement. And somehow, Draco had found out he had a little piece of his heart left, hidden deep inside the cold exterior he displayed for the world. Seeing Harry Potter's bleeding form lying huddled in a dark corner, thin shoulders shaking with desperate gasps raking through his broken body, fearfully cowering away from the newcomer... It had made chills run down Draco's spine. A painful twinge in his chest, he had tried to stay away from the dungeons, to focus on anything else, but the sight of the cringing little boy who had been once his nosy and annoying, but still proud and gallant, school mate haunted before his eyes every time he closed them. One day he had descended to the dungeons again, seeking out the disturbed ex-Gryffindor once more. It had taken time, naturally, but eventually, the two had reached slight, common understanding and trust. The battered prisoner with no hope of living to see his next birthday and the wavering guard with no hope of living on with his conscience clear.

Harry had never asked Draco to help him escape, to let him go. Perhaps he knew it would be impossible for Draco, who put his life on the line every time he came to see Harry. But Harry had one request. One day, he had been returned to his cell from a lengthy and savage session with the remaining Lestranges, and when Draco set his eyes on him, he could barely breath. He had clung himself to Draco, staring up with desperate, pleading eyes clouded by pain, and babbled on that his friends were due to execution the next day. He had made Draco promise he would get them out, he would save them before they would get killed, before falling unconscious.

And Draco had tried, he really had. But there had been absolutely no possibilities to get to them unnoticed. The young Death Eater had been invited to watch their deaths, to hear their last, shrill screams, to see their tortured eyes before the last breath was beaten out of them. And now he was sitting in Harry's cell, the screams still echoing in his mind. He stared at the clobbered prisoner, whose misty smile was getting on his nerves.

"Potter... " He swallowed. "Harry, what are you saying?"

Harry's dim eyes tried to focus on the blonde crouched in front of him. His dry lips were stretched into a care-free smile as he studied Draco, swaying slightly. There was something flickering in the muddy eyes.

"I'm free", he whispered. "I'm free to go now. There's nothing to keep me here anymore."

"Don't you give up now, Potter." Draco tried a half-hearted sneer. "Someone could still save you -"

"No." Harry shook his head slowly, a small dribble of fresh, crimson blood trickling down his cheek. "No-one's coming, I know that already... "

Harry's eyes were suddenly more clear they had been for months. He looked straight at Draco, his expression earnest and solemn. The shadows played on his bruised face. "It's okay, Draco. I'm ready. I'm ready to go... "

Draco could find nothing to say. He had seen death, he had killed people for the cause, he had created mayhem and horror, but this... He swallowed.

Harry breathing got laboured in the silence. He coughed, droplets of blood staining his chin. Green eyes locked into the silvery ones.

"Please", came the broken whisper that was going to be in Draco's memory till he would die. "Hold me."

Without hesitation, Draco reached out and pulled the quivering body close. He wrapped his arms carefully around Harry's skeletal waist, offering his body warmth to the shivering boy. A heavy weight settled on Draco's shoulder, and he knew Harry had tucked his head into the crook of Draco's neck. Something wet and sticky, probably blood, stained Draco's midnight black robes, but he couldn't really come to care. Offering unconditional comfort was not something Draco did on a daily bases, but it came, nevertheless, naturally. Realizing he was holding a dying soul in his embrace, Draco, for the first time, truly regretted the path of life he had chosen for himself. Or more accurately, what had been chosen _for_ him.

Draco bowed his head and closed his eyes, listening the weak thumps of Harry's faded heart. Harry's breath hitched, his body twitching violently all the sudden. "It's cold... so _cold_... "

The Death Eater tightened his hold, pulling Harry across his lap as he sat on the cold floor, providing what ever solace he could to the young man slowly wasting away before his eyes. Almost unconsciously, Draco traced soothing circles across Harry's too slim back. "Shh, it's okay. It's okay, I got you now... "

Harry whimpered softly, his maltreated torso convulsing in Draco's firm grasp, before burrowing deeper against the blonde. His entangled hair tickled Draco's chin as his head pressed tighter against Draco's shoulder, not having any strength to support it by himself anymore. He murmured something, too quiet for Draco to catch. Draco cocked his head, listening keenly.

"I forgive you, Draco... "

With a shuddered breath, Harry's body went unnaturally still. Draco sat there on his haunches for a long moment, staring at the sullied wall in front of him but not really seeing it. Harry had forgiven him. For some reason, such a trivial fact suddenly seemed huge to Draco, it nearly lift a massive weight from Draco's chest, a crushing burden from his shoulders. Biting back the hot tears burning behind his eyelids, he slowly lowered the broken body of the saviour to the floor. Harry's face was peaceful, his haunted eyes closed for eternity. It almost appeared as if he was merely sleeping. Draco wiped a smear of dirt from his nose, a faint smile playing on his lips. He leaned closer, lips gently brushing Harry's ear.

"Thank you, Harry Potter", he whispered, like Harry could still hear him. Perhaps he could, perhaps his spirit was still hovering over his deceased body and grinning down on Draco with the devil-may-care attitude he had possessed as a young boy. "Go to your friends, go to those you love. Your job here is done."

Draco rose to his feet gracefully, rearranging his features back into the cool mask he wore. He threw a final glance at Harry, lingering a little before bowing his head in respect and leaving the cell that had inhabited perhaps the greatest man in wizarding history.

Draco may have been unredeemable, but Harry had touched his heart and soul, a task no-one had ever done before. The last of the Malfoys, the last of the Potters. A Slytherin and a Gryffindor. A Death Eater and a member of the Order. So different, yet so alike. A touch of compassion, an act of forgiveness. Nothing else was needed to bring them together.

_ fin_

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There you go. A very angsty and sad piece of fan fiction that has been rolling around my head for awhile now. I actually dislike to read death-fics but they are so gripping to write, how silly is that.


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